Ordinary Magic
by Kyndsie
Summary: Vignettes from the married life of Jareth and Sarah. Ordinary things, view through the perspective of love in their situation, seem to become magical. Might vaguely tie in with the collab epilogue of "20 Questions for the Goblin King". Written in payment of a fandebt to spike30 on dA (see A/N, my profile for info, links). Ch 3 posted 8/27.
1. Our Settee

**DISCLAIMER: Settings, characters ideas, scenes, etc, from Labyrinth are (c) Henson, Lucas, Froud, Lee, Bowie, Connelly, etc and are NOT MINE.** I don't own a settee, with or without a Goblin King, smirking on it.

This is one of a few stories written in thanks to spike30 (on deviantArt) for taking some of my suggestions for cosplay pics. There's a link to his dA page on my profile here.  
Stay tuned for A/N after.

* * *

Our Settee

We sit there, cuddled together, as though we were an ordinary couple. Young professionals, blue collar, freelance, it doesn't matter. In this aspect, we _are_ ordinary: husband and wife, sitting together, sharing one another's space even as the fireplace performs its function.

This time, he was there first. As I sat by myself at the other end of the room, engrossed in my own thoughts, I _felt_ his gaze. This time, he drew me over with naught but a look and that smirk. He took my hand gently, reverently, and eased me down into his arms, onto his lap.

Another time, I was there first. He wasn't even in the room, but elsewhere about his realm, tending to business. I watched the fire and thought of him, and missed him. My mind found him, tapped him on the shoulder, and beckoned. He reclined himself with me, his head on my lap, and my hands entwined in his fly-away blond hair.

Another time, he was there first. I wasn't even in the room. As I walked through the room and past him, intent about my own business, and barely out of reach, he leaned out and grabbed me. He pulled me onto his lap, and encircled me within his arms.

Another time, I was there first. He was working at his desk, handling the piles of parchment and unending rounds of correspondence. I was trying to ignore him, even as I smiled to myself at his scowl over a particularly loathsome request. My smile called to him, so he looked up, finished quickly, and was beside me.

Another time, he was there first. He was enjoying an unexpected hour's rest, while I was elsewhere with the castle's housekeeper, determining arrangements for an upcoming State Dinner. He was musing on how _alone_ he was before. Before he ever saw me, before we met, before I started to understand, before we came together. He flicked his wrist and magicked me there, already in his embrace.

But this time, though he was on the settee first, _our_ settee, we were in the room together. The guests departed, the diplomacies fulfilled, the negotiations concluded, the children abed, and the goblins successfully thwarted from any arson-related mischief, we enjoyed the space and the quiet. The luxury of staring into a fire together isn't one for which there is often enough time.

And it rarely lasts longer than it takes for either of us to notice it.

This time, though our children are talented at untimely interruptions, the goblins are skilled in mayhem, and the neighboring kingdoms known for imbecilic requests, we recline together. We watch the light shift and dance. We inhale the wood smoke, and listen to the fire's rhythm as it intermingles with our heartbeats. We sink further into each other, and further away from awareness of anything else. My head tips to the side so our eyes can meet. From that moment, we're no longer on our settee, within one of the family-only rooms.

We're truly alone, in _our_ room, where all know to leave us undisturbed. There's a wood fire going here, too, but we don't watch it. We tend to the fire of our own building.

* * *

_A/N: This series of story (yes... I said "series") might turn out to be related to or linked to something else of mine. We'll see how it pans out. At least one of the other stories written in payment are not part of this series._

_Un-Beta'd: Beware of Typos. You spot 'em, I want 'em! (one found Aug 18th)  
_


	2. Steal an Hour

**DISCLAIMER: Settings, characters ideas, scenes, etc, from Labyrinth are (c) Henson, Lucas, Froud, Lee, Bowie, Connelly, etc and are NOT MINE.** Anti-gravity also slightly borrowed from the Fred Astaire movie "Royal Wedding". I do not advocate theft, in a general sense. But I don't complain when a Goblin King wants to steal a kiss.

This is one of a few stories written in thanks to spike30 (on deviantArt) for taking some of my suggestions for cosplay pics. There's a link to his dA page on my profile here.  
Stay tuned for A/N after.

* * *

Steal an Hour

_Despite my title, my position, my role in our realm, I do sometimes revert to using certain mundane phrases. Less frequently now than when I was first married, rarely out loud, and __**never**__ around those whose misunderstanding of my meaning would truly cause problems._

This evening, I stole an hour. The day's duties were officially done, although a true monarch is never really finished. I watched my husband, my Goblin King, cuddle our baby. There are some in positions of power who shunt their offspring to the fringes, seeing them only seldom, and initiating physical contact only when absolutely necessary, as for various Ceremonies. I was pleased and surprised to learn very early in our parenthood that Jareth and I share the opinion that it is absolutely necessary to have lots of daily, affectionate, physical contact with each child, however many we have.

This evening, I stole an hour. I saw my lord walk all six dimensions of the room, in a steady pace that calmed and distracted the bairn. His protection against all harm extended by touch, the littlest Fae-let never knew when she was upside down or sideways.

This evening, I stole an hour. My love, stretched out there on the carpet, so relaxed as he cuddled our youngest. I had a rush of memory, and reveled in the continuity: I had seen him thus with each of our children before, and knew an inner spring of joy at the love that each child would grow into.

This evening, I stole an hour. I sat on our settee, and watched my heart's mate hold our creation. At first, the babe fought sleep, but she couldn't defy her father's tenderness and strength, or his ability to soothe through song.

This evening, I stole an hour. Dreams fulfilled in my own home, in front of my very eyes, as I saw my erstwhile villain demonstrate his compassion and commitment, his patience and humor. I smiled, and murmured an apology that I ever doubted his capacity in such things.

This evening, I stole an hour. The nursery full, I rested on our settee. I watched my husband sleep, stretched out with his head on my lap. I played with his hair, lightly brushing it out of his face, untangled the locks mussed by our baby. He reached up and captured my hand, even in fatigue seeking to confirm my presence. I bent to press my lips lightly along his forehead, even as his hand caressed me.

This evening, we stole an hour.

_Except a Goblin King who re-orders time has no need to steal it, so we enjoyed spending it._

* * *

_A/N: This series of story (yes... I said "series") might turn out to be related to or linked to something else of mine. We'll see how it pans out. At least one of the other stories written in payment are not part of this series._

_There's a WONDERFUL cosplay pic of spike30 that helped to inspire this story. Link is in my profile._

_Un-Beta'd: Beware of Typos. You spot 'em, I want 'em!_


	3. Face to Face

**DISCLAIMER: Settings, characters ideas, scenes, etc, from Labyrinth are (c) Henson, Lucas, Froud, Lee, Bowie, Connelly, etc and are NOT MINE.** I have never heard what Jareth's markings are called, so I made something up. Sadly, I don't own a settee with a Goblin King on it, but I might have mentioned that before.

This is one of a few stories written in thanks to spike30 (on deviantArt) for taking some of my suggestions for cosplay pics. There's a link to his dA page on my profile here.  
Stay tuned for A/N after.

* * *

_An unexpected early morning finds Goblin King and Goblin Queen, sitting together on their favorite settee. Whether this is a twin to the piece of furniture in the Queen's dressing room, or is actually the same one is of no consequence; Sarah has long suspected that Jareth charmed it to be in whatever room he'd likely find __**her**__._

The angle of the light as it enters the windows of this family-only room of the Castle Beyond the Goblin City always has a slight mist-like quality to it: things seems vague, full of possibilities, wistful.

The Goblin Queen shifts out of the Goblin King's arms. He is surprised, so he lets her, privately amused at her action, but relieved that she doesn't go far. In fact, her legs swing over his now, instead of remaining half-tucked up beside her. He places his left hand on her right calf, and slides his right hand along her waist and a little toward her back, maintaining contact, even as Sarah looks at him.

She looks at him: his face, his features, his hair, his eyes, his Marks. Yes… his Marks. Given the intent look in Sarah's eyes, Jareth holds his curiosity, mischief, and other intentions in abeyance. Sarah is _studying_ his Marks, memorizing his face, looking into his eyes as though finding answers to questions she hasn't yet imagined.

She's nearly stationary, and barely seems to breathe. He is concerned, until he realizes that she's very relaxed as she looks at him. Whatever has prompted this internal tutorial, it isn't causing his Lady any distress, so he allows the parsing to continue.

Her breathing shifts slightly, and she lifts her hands to his face, her eyes still looking at him as though at a mystery. She gently places a single finger on each cheek. Each pointer finger rests sequentially on a Point of Light, as Sarah always describes those reflective areas. She marvels that they're not symmetrically placed, or of the same size or quantity on either side.

She tilts her head back and forth to allow for a shift in perspective. She brushes at his hair slightly, knowing that the motion won't keep it out of his face for long; she likes how it feels across the back of her hand, and through her fingers.

Even more gently, she begins to trace the Marks at his eyes. A feather-light touch, yet she traces them. Starting above his eyes, with the brows, inside to out, fascinated by the upward sweep. An even lighter touch caresses the Stroke of Light on each eyelid. Jareth hardly dares to breathe as she provides this heretofore unexplored realm of sensory encounter.

Next she comes to the Stroke of Royalty, of Fae, of Magic. Sarah doesn't know what name to give that intriguing indigo. She smiles a little to herself, knowing that her hands have almost finished their role. Almost, but not quite. Each ring finger traces the nearest vertical spread of color.

Jareth's eyes have long since closed; any conscious reason for this would have been along the lines of allowing his Queen whatever access she desires, coupled with a fuller embracing of his nerve endings' reactions. The final set of the dance between hands and eyes concludes with a lighter-than breath sketching across each eyelid, one at a time, and around the lower lids.

Her pinkies tease around the borders of his lips.

Even as Sarah's fingers begin to move outward across the tops of the King's cheeks, toward his hair, and Jareth begins to think that it might be time to open his eyes to learn what prompted this, he feels her warmth draw near. He feels her breath on his face, her hands intertwined within his locks to hold him stationary and tilt his head towards herself, and her lips greet his eyelids. His memory of the importance of the sundry ceremonies of his own life pales in the light of this time. In this moment, he finally, fully accepts that Sarah chose him just as certainly and just as fully as he chose her. She lingers over each eye, making sure to get each gradation of color, before she moves to his cheeks.

His mind untangles enough to consider that Sarah's fingertip on each Point of Light was a remarkable prelude to this; her mouth is delicate in its ministrations, and thorough.

When she finally moves to his mouth, he murmurs a soul-deep blessing as she finally allows him to respond.

_Neither Goblin King nor Queen attends to their Official morning duties this day._

* * *

_A/N: This series of story (yes... I said "series") might turn out to be related to or linked to something else of mine. We'll see how it pans out. At least one of the other stories written in payment are not part of this series._

_And... this completes the repayment. There's the better than likely chance of additional stories. I do rather enjoy having a Goblin King owing me something, you understand._

_Un-Beta'd: Beware of Typos. You spot 'em, I want 'em!_


End file.
